


Scorch

by softlyue



Series: Gifts and Requests [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Banter, Exhibitionism, M/M, Sarcasm, handjob, writing exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 17:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyue/pseuds/softlyue
Summary: Fenris does not initiate. Ever, except when he's homicidally enraged and can't bring the words to his mouth in a single language, and that's ever only happened once.They are in an alley in the middle of the day and Hawke is certain his brain must be melting out of his ears.





	Scorch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inuy21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inuy21/gifts).



> Written for a NSFW prompt exchange on the [Writers of Thedas](https://lyriumyue.tumblr.com/post/172545633031/join-us-at-the-writers-of-thedas-discord) discord chat. Requested by [Inuy21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inuy21/pseuds/Inuy21), for FenHawke, ["Are we really going to do this in public?"](https://lyriumyue.tumblr.com/post/173403994651/nsfw-prompt-list-1) \- Inuy requested the FenHawke from an earlier prompt, [Drown.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253528)

Aveline's latest Murder Mystery takes them back and forth across Kirkwall, and before he knows it, the day is almost done. Like any crime in Kirkwall, everyone is talking about it and no one knows anything. Hawke stops in front of a fruit stand to buy a snack - it's hot, they're dirty, and it's another half hour at least on foot back to Hightown, and he has nothing to offer Aveline when he gets there. Far be it from him to ever agree to do things  _"with discretion"_  ever again. Perish the thought that he even attempted to damage his forthright reputation like this.

He tosses a pear to Fenris, who catches it without looking.

"Taking a break when we've gained no ground hardly seems aligned with what you were hired for," Fenris remarks, tone as dry as Hawke's throat feels under the summer's harsh, late afternoon glare.

Hawke gives a careless shrug and turns up the steps, chucks the pear core into a pile of trash in the corner. Fenris is absolutely correct, they've gained nothing, and it's hot, and he's tired and this whole  _"honourable hire"_  thing Aveline wants him to try is total nugshit.

"I'm sure Aveline will understand why I wanted to wait until dark," he calls back around a mouthful of fruit and juice, wiping the back of one hand across his mouth. "My methods work better, anyway."

"Methods," Fenris repeats as a scoff as he bumps Hawke's elbow. "You expect me to stand guard for your alibi while you pick petty fights in Darktown? How dignified,  _Messere Hawke_."

Hawke doesn't miss a beat. "I love when you call me that, should I show you how dignified I can be?"

Another snort, but no answer. Then, "Do what you want."

"Do you really mean that, Fenris?" Hawke looks over with a grin he can't bite back. When Fenris gives him a sidelong glance with one brow raised, Hawke's heart thuds a little heavier to the ivy-coloured challenge.

Fenris tosses the core of his fruit into the gutter nearest them, and turns down an alley.  _The shortcut path_ , Hawke realizes with a giddy smirk. It only takes a stride to catch up to Fenris, a much more energized skip in his step. Hawke pockets his hands and hums a little at the back of his throat, and Fenris gives a dramatic eyeroll.

"I simply wish to get out of the sun, Hawke," he states, stopping with both arms folded. "This wayward field trip has gone on long enough."

"Sorry I couldn't tell over your scowl, are you lecturing me?"  He nudges Fenris playfully against the wall, bracing his forearm over the other on the cool stone. "You might have to repeat it, I'm so terribly  _incapable_ of following directions the first time."

" _Keh_ ," comes the sound with another eyeroll, "It's admirable, at least, how foolishly confident you are in your lack of charm."

"Wound me again, ser elf, you know how much I like it rough." Hawke drops his voice, "Especially out in the open like this."

Fenris bellows a laugh, adds nothing more besides a shake of his head and casually unfolds his arms. He looks up to Hawke, brows furrowed a little in thought and Hawke's eyes drop to Fenris' lips as Fenris chews at the corner. He looks back up, wonders what mischief - or likely, revenge - forms behind those eyes, those thick dark lashes and the little eleven lines between his brows that Hawke swears he is not responsible for.

So lost in Fenris' gaze is he that he almost jumps out of his skin when Fenris reaches forward to cup him through his trousers.

The moan that tumbles out of him is deep like a hunger, and Hawke tilts his hips forward and shuts his eyes without thinking as heat bleeds across him from groin to ears, blush burning like a startled schoolboy. Fenris is conservative on a good day, behind closed door and curtain and there always must be a fire roaring, bright enough to pull Hawke's attention away from the lyrium tattoos and back to the actions at hand. Fenris does not initiate. Ever, except when he's homicidally enraged and can't bring the words to his mouth in a single language, and that's ever only happened once.

They are in an alley in the middle of the day and Hawke is certain his brain must be melting out of his ears.

"Looks a little like heatstroke," drawls Fenris, no expression on his face as Hawke leans in closer, "You should look after yourself more closely, Hawke." The massage continues with even pressure and intent, his fingers holding him firm and steady as his thumb draws circular patterns over Hawke's cock, clockwise, and then back. The claws of Fenris' gauntlet dig, but do not pierce, and he's feeling a sense of deja vu from ten too many dreams of Fenris bringing him to the edge.

All Hawke can do is grunt and lean harder into his raised arm, part his knees a bit wider.

"Hawke..." There's a bit of warning now in Fenris' voice, "Better move closer..."

The sound of clanking armour fills the alley and Hawke clears his throat, Fenris gives one more squeeze and lets go, leaves him blushing half-hard and clumsily trying to stand straight, play it cool. He shifts his tunic slightly to probably ( _not_ ) hide the telling arousal, and maybe if he pretends he isn't burning to death under his shirt collar, the guards won't think to pass on this weird little hangout space to Aveline.

Hawke gives a strained, "Good afternoon," as they pass. Fenris, arms folded and back against the wall as if this were precisely where he was meant to be, gives a nod, and they acknowledge him in turn.

"We'll see you for Donnic's challenge later this week?" one asks as he tips up his helmet.

Fenris shrugs, gives a quick flit of a glance at Hawke trying to figure out what to do with his hands, before he turns back to the guard.

"I may."

"Good, good, well, see you soon then." A small nod back, and the guards are on their way.

Fenris curls one hand under Hawke's chin, pulls Hawke's gaze back to him, with a hint of a predatory smirk on his lips. His other hand draws slowly down Hawke's torso, and Hawke swears under his breath. He's always up for a game of chicken, and now it's too late to back out. Fenris will never let him live it down if he tries.

"Are we really going to do this in  _public_?" Hawke hisses as Fenris pulls open his belt. He'd meant to sound teasing, but it comes out frustrated and desperate.

Fenris stops. His grip on Hawke's chin tightens where it's nearly hurting, and with a twist and a shove, he slams Hawke against the wall. He has to stand on his toes to reach Hawke's ear, but Hawke's head is spinning with embarrassment and arousal, and all he can do is huff a breath as Fenris whispers, "...as if you have any idea what humiliation is," venom and promise both laced in his tone. Hawke's skin prickles from nose to toes, and if he was half hard before, he's almost there now. He shuts his eyes, tries to shut out the sound of the city around them, just a few strides and a corner-turn away.

"Prove it," Hawke says, tries to swallow the gasp as Fenris shoves Hawke's trousers and smalls to mid thigh with one hand, and tangles the other, gauntlet and all, into Hawke's coarse hair. His grip is tight enough to hold him in place, to anchor him, but not quite to the point of pain. The stone wall is cold against Hawke's backside, and another longing moan rumbles from him as Fenris gives his cock a long, languid stroke with those sharp, cold gauntlet claws.

"I wonder if anyone else will wander this way," taunts Fenris as he gives a squeeze at the base, "What they will gossip about, seeing their Champion keen so gracelessly into my hand?" Hawke goes to thrust his hips, and Fenris twists the hold in his hair to hold him still.

His mouth finds the exposed skin of Hawke's throat, drawing tongue along the veins and suckling against his pulse.

The light scrape of metal and the calloused skin of his palm are all Hawke can focus on. The air around them is hot and humid, and while he's sure he's breathing steam, his cock is hotter, and Maker, it almost hurts as Fenris draws his hand up and down slow, leisurely, as if he hopes someone will come by to see the sight. He was never one for exhibitionism, but he thinks today, he just might be, and he feels his willpower stutter with his knees as Fenris turns his hand and drags the cold, flat edge of a claw under his sac and up the length of him.

"I thought you were going to show me how  _dignified_ you are,  _Hawke_." Fenris punctuates his name as he draws his palm over the tip, smearing precum in a circle before returning to squeezing, stroking, drawing Hawke's very soul from his body with each drop and pull of his hand. Hawke puts his hand over Fenris' as words fail him as a nasally whine. When he looks down, his cock is near purple from the strain, the touch, the pressure, the head a bright pink between the curl of Fenris' thumb and forefinger. He so desperately wants a kiss, but Fenris smiles against his jaw as his teeth nibble at Hawke's earlobe, pull at the tiny earring there.

He chokes on a groan, stutters on the inhale as it echoes through the alley and Fenris gives the barest laugh, stroking faster, pressing the claws just a little harder, warning: If Hawke thrusts too hard into his fingers, those claws will cut him, and the hand in his hair drops, leaves him free to bit his lip and press his shoulders back into the stone. Hawke's other hand grips at a jutted out brick, tries his best to hold himself back.

"Fenris," he pants - begs, and a cry of aroused anguish roars out of him as Fenris curls his fingers even tighter.

"Someone might catch us," Fenris reminds him, voice as even as ever, "Out here."

"Then Maker burn out their eyes...Fenris!"

Fenris puts his knees between Hawke's, presses their hips together and slides his hand around Hawke's rear to give it a tight, unforgiving squeeze.

Hawke's cock erupts between them and he slams his head back against the stone.

"Fenris, kiss--"

The shorter man's mouth locks on his like a gift from Andraste herself as Hawke's knees buckle and his spine turns to jelly, lips and tongue moving against his and sharing the sensation of breathless heat and sweet, sweet pear, a taste of summer he'll never be able to eat among any other company ever again. Eventually, with a last throbbing pulse, Hawke is spent and sticky and boneless, knuckles on the wall shuddering white and strained. Fenris' ministrations slow and ease off of him as he shudders and softens. Fenris flicks his wrist, and pulls a dark grey square of fabric from his pocket.

Hawke wants to snark at him, but what falls from his mouth are a mess of sounds until finally a jumbled, "...fuck it, love you," forms. Fenris wipes the two of them clean, and pockets the soiled fabric as if nothing happened between them. Hawke turns his eyes up to the sky, a wash of orange and periwinkle, and Hawke can't help feeling he mirrors it as his body cools and tries to pack away the humiliation and the exhilaration to remember at another time. He tugs up his trousers without looking at Fenris.

By the Maker, Hawke hates losing, especially more so that it felt so good...

Fenris flattens a palm to Hawke's brow, green eyes half-lidded, as if bored. He clicks his tongue once and backs away with arms outstretched in a shrug. "Certainly heatstroke," he says dismissively, "I suppose this venture will have to wait. We should get you home."

Hawke pulls a hand down his face to bury back an agitated sigh, and walks past Fenris as his face burns anew. "Oh yes, burning up," he mutters, and chances a glance back at Fenris, who keeps pace with a satisfied smirk on his face. "I don't suppose you'd like to help me sink my teeth into some  _elfroot_ , back at the manor?"

Fenris says nothing, but the wicked gleam in his features makes Hawke pick up his step.

Hawke has already lost today, and he has a reputation to keep, after all. 


End file.
